


no one else in this world

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Blood, Non-Chronological, a tiny bit of angst if you squint because I can't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of the farm, Daryl and Carol never reunite with the group. After a few harsh, brutal months on the road, they settle down in an abandoned cabin. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one else in this world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmpressMcBride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressMcBride/gifts).



> So, I don't do fluff. Not my thing. But EmpressMcBride wanted this, and I really _needed_ this (despite telling myself otherwise), and so I really tried. Now I need to brush my teeth and listen to some sad music to get me back into my usual mindset. 
> 
> If you are looking for a fic with a deeply profound meaning, please look elsewhere. I purposely left out certain things that I would have written had my goal not been fluff. Like Carol's grief over Sophia. Or the fact that there are other people – nasty people – out there. Or that surviving is hard. 
> 
> That being sad, I hope you'll all enjoy this and that it makes you feel a bit better after... Let's not discuss it. This is also non-linear, so don't get confused.

let's get old together  
let's be unhappy forever  
cause there's no one else in this world  
that I'd rather be unhappy with

  
let's be exposed and unprotected  
let's see one another when we're weak  
  


_Just Be_ , Paloma Faith

 

_Brought ya somethin'_. Carol feels her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she watches Daryl, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on every inch of exposed skin, blood beginning to crust on his shirt, the crossbow covered in mud and leaning against the wall in the hallway.

 

She's not sure if he is actually blushing, or if it's just the early summer heat gleaming on his skin. One way or the other, it is a sight to cherish, and so she bites back a teasing comment as he hold up his red cloth, balled up in the palm of his hand. His fingers are covered in dirt and blood when he peels the fabric away, slowly, and Carol is a little surprised by the excitement bubbling in her veins.

 

_Had ta kill six of 'em bastards for this_ , Daryl mutters when he reveals a handful of deep red wild strawberries cradled in his palm. _Some of 'em got smashed._

 

Carol chuckles lightly at that, assuming he is talking about the strawberries. She looks up at Daryl with a grateful smile. _Thank you._

 

Oh, he's definitely blushing now, she thinks as she leans over to kiss him. It's just a quick, chaste press of lips, but when she pulls back and notices the corners of his mouth tugging into a proud smile, Carol realizes it is more than enough.

 

_We could have them for dessert, with some sugar_ , she suggests excitedly, running her finger over the berries.

 

_Nah, ya can eat 'em._

 

_Don't you like strawberries?_ Carol asks, not quite able to read his expression. He scratches his chin nervously, looking down at the two dozen berries in his palm.

 

_Got 'em for ya_ , he mutters, and Carol's heart expands in her ribcage, her own cheeks burning as they are tinted just as red as the berries.

 

 

 

That night, when she kisses him and eagerly pulls him closer, he tastes faintly of strawberries, and it is both the sweetest and oddest sensation. Confusion is written plainly across his features when she bursts out laughing in his arms, but whatever disapproving comment he'd been about to make dies on his tongue and turns into a soft groan when she presses her lips into the warm skin of his neck.

 

* * *

 

 

_Do you ever think about leaving this place?_ Her timid question catches him off guard, and he puts the crossbow down on the floor by his feet, scanning her face. She's stopped clearing away the pecan shells a while ago, and now her fingers drum a hazy rhythm against the table. It's annoying as shit, but he won't complain.

  
Thinking about her question, Daryl shrugs. _Guess we can't stay here forever._ The fire casts an orange glow, warming Carol's cheeks. She looks pretty, her hair growing out and curling messily – his fingers twitch against his thighs, remembering how silky soft it feels to run them across her scalp – and the flames sparkling in her eyes. She'd look prettier without the hint of sadness that clings to her when she nods, though.

  
_The farm, that was good_ , she says quietly, and he can almost taste the memories that haunt her. _Other people._ The brief pause stretches on, tense as she ponders her next words. _Do you think some of them are still alive?_

_  
Maybe._ There ain't no point in thinking about that, not when they'd never know for sure. But Carol's upset, and while there's little he can do to make her feel better, he can make sure she isn't feeling even worse.

  
_I hope so_ , she sighs, dropping her hands into her lap. _You said we need to start over and we did. We could do it again._ He swallows deftly.

 

_We'd have ta go back on the road_. Those memories are sharp and cold and bloody, and neither of them speak about those months often. Not when the present is soft and warm.

  
_It would be different_ , Carol reassures him, eyes hopeful. Still, he can detect something else hidden beneath the million shades of blue, some as clear as the sky and others as deep as the sea. _I can defend myself now._ The confidence behind her words speaks for how far she's come. But the sigh that escapes him nearly slams her pride into the ground. _What?_

  
_Nothin'_ , Daryl replies, looking down at his knees, fingers scratching the rough material of his pants. Nothing happens for a minute, and he's sure he made her feel like shit. Then, her chair scratches noisily against the floor, and a few seconds later, red socked feet appear in his field of vision. Carol kneels down slowly in front of him, her hands curling around his upper arms to steady herself.  
  


_Daryl?_ she whispers, understanding that he wasn't trying to belittle her. He's a prick and he doesn't deserve her, and he has no fucking clue why she always gets him the way she does.

  
_I could've done it, ya now?_ he begins, looking up into soft eyes. _Be on my own after the farm, if I hadn't found ya._ His hand finds her cheek easily, and he chews on his next words for a while as his thumb nudges the corner of her soft lips, the tips of his other fingers trailing her cheekbone and dipping into the hair that curls at her temple. _Can't do that anymore_ , he finally mutters, quietly and with so much embarrassment that he wants to turn away. But Carol won't let him, one of her hands coming up to mirror his, cupping his cheek.

  
It's a more determined touch than his. She does not explore, she holds him in place with a gentle grasp that he can not escape. _You don't have to be alone_ , she whispers, leaning in a little closer. _And we're not going anywhere tonight._

 

* * *

 

 

A shiver runs through her when she pushes open the cabin's front door, white paint peeling away from the damp wood, cracked and rough beneath her palm. The gust of cold night air crawls beneath the layers of her clothes, raising the short hairs at the base of her skull.

 

It's a clear night, not a single cloud dotting the sky. Instead, stars shine brightly, pinned to the black canvas like pearly white and milky yellow jewels, keeping the half moon company. Taking a deep breath, Carol allows the clear air to flood her lungs, relishing in the way her chest expands, making room for it, the effect instantly calming.

 

Daryl does not turn to look at her when she steps out onto the porch, the planks creaking slightly under her heavy boots. Quietly, she closes the door to preserve the comforting warmth in the cabin.

 

He is leaning against the balustrade, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, hands curled into fists by his sides. With tense shoulders, he stares into the distant darkness of the trees, illuminated by nothing but the pale glow of the moon.

 

_It's quiet out here._ Carol keeps her voice low, always careful of the dangers that might lurk in the darkness. The words are merely a murmur, still lazy and hoarse from sleep. She curls her arms around her torso as she slowly crosses the porch, coming to a slow halt by Daryl’s side.

 

The only reply she receives is an affirming grunt, but still, he does not move. After all this time, she knows better than to probe, to ask him what he's doing out here. Instead, she allows the silence between them to expand, swallowing them for the longest time.

 

 

 

After they found this place, hidden away in a clearing, sheltered from the world and all its horrors, it took nearly four months before Daryl stopped taking watch, spending his nights roaming around the cabin, always looking for _something_. For a weakness, for anything that could harm them. And even after that, another three, slow months passed before he stopped tossing and turning by her side, stirred by even the smallest noise.

 

The fence that lines the clearing is strong, and they have put up so many traps, piercingly sharp spears, even dug a small trench on one side of the clearing. Safety is an illusion, Carol understands that. That knowledge haunts her nights and has her blood boiling throughout the days. Still, she relishes in believing it might last.

 

Now, Daryl sleeps quietly by her side night after night, not as restless as before. Some mornings, Carol wakes before him. It's a rare occurrence, but she cherishes it all the more for that, taking a few precious moments to take in the sight of him, peaceful and calm. He looks younger then, all the anger drained from his features, along with the worry and faint echo of fear he tries so hard to deny. Sometimes, the sunlight skims over him, across tanned skin and a shadow of a beard, and in those glimpses of beauty, Carol almost begins to believe in happiness again.

 

Still, there are nights like these, nights when she wakes up in a cold and empty bed. Usually, those nights are preceded by a bad day – those mornings they awake to the sound of snarling and moaning, those days their stomachs churn, those nights not even the fire can quite keep them warm. Other days, Carol can not quite put her finger on a reason. Inside of him, Daryl shelters a deep well of memories that she has no access to, and that float to the surface every now and then, triggered by moments and words she can not identify.

 

With a sigh, she turns her head, taking in Daryl's frozen features in the pale light. She leans closer, breaching the distance. The second her lips press against his cold cheek, some of the tension seems to ease, and Daryl sags slightly by her side, eyelids fluttering shut.

 

_Come back to bed_ , she whispers, the dampness of her own breath trapped in the breadth of space between them. Softly, she lifts her hand to his arm, squeezing her fingers into the leather of his jacket, grounding him for a moment. He keeps his eyes closed, perhaps to blend out the night, perhaps to hold on to the echo of her kiss for a moment longer.

 

Her hand slides down the length of his arm, across the bend of his elbow, until she can feel the rough callous of his palm beneath her fingers, skimming the tips along his own. She does not move to intertwine their fingers, to press her palm to his. Instead, she does not linger, pulling away despite the tug of longing in her chest to hold on to him.

 

As she walks back towards the door, she turns one last time, taking in Daryl’s silhouette against the dark blue and gray backdrop, before disappearing inside.

 

 

 

The dip and creak of the mattress pulls Carol from the light trance of sleep, and a smile curls her lips. Allowing her eyes to drift open, the sees the early light of dawn through creaks in the curtains, glowing in gentle shades of pink and orange.

 

Warmth soaks into her back when Daryl crawls beneath the thick blankets, shuffling for a moment before his chest is pressed against her back and his arm curls around her waist. His hand smooths along the sheets until he finds hers, and Carol sinks into his embrace when their fingers curl into each other, eyes closing as the thick haziness of sleep claims her again.

 

* * *

 

 

He flinches when her finger traces the line of a scar, jagged and stretching between his shoulder blades. It doesn't hurt. Hell, her fingers are smooth and slightly cool, and it should feel really god damn good to have her trace his back as gently as she does. It's instinctual, moving away, wanting to hide the mess his father left behind. It's ugly, and cruel and she shouldn't have to see it.

 

But she's seen it before, he reminds himself, shutting off any thoughts about his old man when Carol moves her fingers back down to his side. It tickles a little when she cleans the gash there. She works quietly and efficiently, with caring fingers and all the delicacy his own hands could never muster even if he tried his damn hardest.

 

She's seen them before and never said a word about it. Even now, she keeps her mouth shut – out of fear he might snap at her again like the asshole he can be, or out of respect, he ain't got a clue.

 

It doesn't matter, though. Not when, after she's done wrapping gauze around his middle, he lingers. Resist the urge to run.

 

A cool hand whispers across his back, splaying there ever so slightly until he leans back into her touch.

 

She ain't his old man. It's strange, feeling safe. But in a way, he does.

 

* * *

 

 

_Oh, come on!_ Carol groans as the pile of dry, clean clothes slips right out of her hands, landing quietly on the bathroom floor. The tiles are splashed with murky water from her wash, mud and blood soaking into her clothes.

 

Goosebumps covering her entire body after having been too exhausted to heat up the buckets of water to wash herself with, Carol grabs the towel she has folded neatly onto the toilet seat. With trembling fingers, she wraps it around her body, slick and dripping. It provides little warmth, and her feet move quickly along the cold tiles.

 

The bathroom door creaks as she pulls it open, the warmth from the living room flooding the hallway and bringing her a little comfort. Stepping out into the hallway, Carol makes a turn for the left, in a rush to get to the bedroom and get dressed.

 

_The hell?_ Daryl blurts out when she nearly bumps into him, a wall of flannel and leather, staring at her with wide eyes.

 

_Dropped my clothes_ , she explains quickly. Her first instinct, driven by the chill that crawls its way from the soles of her feet all the way up the length of her spine, is to push past Daryl. But then she freezes when she takes a moment to look at him. His eyes flicker between her and some particularly interesting stretch of wallpaper behind her, his ears red where they peak out from behind the mess of his hair.

 

_What's the matter with you?_ she inquires, and Daryl almost immediately turns on his heels.

 

_Nothin'_ , he mutters, already on his way towards the front door. Realizations dawns on Carol then, and she feels her shoulders squaring with pride.

 

_Why in such a hurry, then?_ she asks, smiling coyly when he turns to cast a glance at her over his shoulder.

 

_Huntin'._

 

_It's almost dark out_ , she points out, waving towards the front door. The movement allows for her towel to slip between her legs, exposing a small stretch of her inner thigh. She nearly bursts out laughing when Daryl’s eyes not-so-subtly flicker downwards. Clearing his throat, he looks a little lost, standing there with his hands balled into fists.

 

No longer able to suppress her laughter, Carol allows it to break free, tilting her head at Daryl before stepping into the bedroom. He gives her no response, but she does not hear him move, either. Feeling bold, she unties the towel, allowing it to hit the ground with a dull thud that Daryl must hear through the paper thin walls and the door she left open.

 

_Nothing you haven't seen already_ , she quips, pulling a clean shirt from the drawer.

 

His steps are heavy on the worn floorboard, and the bedroom door closes with the slightest sound a second later.

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing in his whole damn life has ever felt as fucking soft as Carol's skin, shivering when his own rough hands map out the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips, goosebumps raising in response. There ain't a thing in the world that's as warm as her lips pressing against his chest, his heart beating pathetically fast. And there sure as hell ain't no sweeter sound than her sigh when he pulls her a little closer, every inch of her pressing against him.

 

It's hard to keep his mind clear, and he stares at the plain ceiling for a long while, mapping out the dents and moldy spots and exposed woodwork.

 

_Are you okay?_ Her voice trembles a little, and it does something to his heart that would earn him a slap on the back of the head from Merle if he ever found out. But Merle ain't here anymore, nobody is. Just Carol. And when he looks down at her blue eyes drilling through every wall he ever put up, he realizes he doesn't give a damn how stupid he is for feeling this soft and warm and sweet.

 

_Better_ , he murmurs. For once in his life, he feels a smile coming naturally to him. That doesn't seem to convince Carol, and she props her chin on his chest with her brows furrowed. It makes him wonder what a miserable prick he must be for her not to buy a genuine smile, but he pushes that thought away. This is a fucking good moment, and he won't ruin it.

 

Leaning down to kiss away the worried crinkles in her forehead, he feels her relax against him. Long arms curl around his torso, smooth legs slipping between his, setting his blood on fire with so much ease that he groans in defeat.

 

* * *

 

 

They have a car parked close to the front door, a tank full of gas and a trunk full of weapons, food and supplies. Just in case.

 

There are two pairs of half-lazed boots on the floor on each side of their bed. Just in case.

 

A loaded gun sits on the bedside table every night. Just in case.

 

His crossbow is always loaded. Just in case.

 

This is the key to surviving now. Always being prepared. But no amount of weapons and food are the key for living, Carol has come to realize that after the first few months spent here. When they arrived, her mind had been blunted by the horrors of the road, the carnage they came across every day. The cold and the hunger and the terror that kept her from letting her guard down for even a second.

 

Now, as time passes quietly, she begins to understand again – or maybe for the first time in decades – what it means to be alive.

 

Pressing her lips against Daryl's for a brief moment before he leaves for his hunt. Just to make sure he remembers.

 

Relishing in the comfort of a soft sweater that is not covered in faint blood stains. Just because she found it on a supply run.

 

Laughing at a stupid story Daryl tells her over dinner. Just so she does not forgot how to laugh.

 

Waking up in the morning and allowing herself, just for a moment, to stay absolutely still and pretend that the world has not ended. Just because she still can imagine.

 

Humming a song she does not remember the lyrics to. Just because there is nobody who will tell her to stop.

 

Digging into a plate of venison, the taste hearty and strong, warming her from the inside. Just because Daryl looks so proud when she thanks him for it.

 

Reading a book with crinkly pages. Just because there are enough hours in the day to do so.

 

 

 

But there is more to living than what she can do herself, what she has to do to feel alive.

 

Daryl kissing the back of her neck as the first rays of sunlight fall across their bed. Just because it makes her heart flutter.

 

The rain pattering down on the cabin's roof. Just because she is safe and dry and warm.

 

Listening to Daryl laughing, rare and precious. Just because she can make him when she tries.

 

Daryl panting into the crook of her neck, shivering in her arms. Just because they can allow themselves to be this close.

 

The hint of snow falling outside, turning the world into a shimmery wonderland. Just because there still is room for beauty.

 

 

 

It's all a part of being alive now, and it is a million times better than just surviving.


End file.
